Ace and Assist
by Azereaux
Summary: Upset and shouldering the blame for the loss on the second day of the Inter-High, Imaizumi takes a walk alone only to receive company from Fukutomi, the person responsible for his current state. Hint of FukuIma.


Bitter – that's what everything was to Imaizumi, from the taste of sweat running down his face and onto his lips to the cheering of the crowd, loud and arrant and inconsiderate to the lowered heads of other schools. But the most bitter of all was the poison of regret coursing through his body, creeping down from his mind and infecting the other parts of his self, making his limbs feel weak and his chest tight. The result of the second day was caught in his throat, a fact that was hard to swallow. His teammates had told him that there was a tomorrow – the race hadn't been decided yet, that Imaizumi did the best he could and the third day is what really mattered. But over the roaring praise and congratulations to Hakone Academy for the spectacular win their reassurance fell flat, especially when his own mind was speaking louder.

"Don't be hard on yourself. We're only a few centimetres away from Hakone Academy," Tadokoro said, patting Imaizumi on the back. Makishima quietly agreed as he followed suit by placing his own hand against Imaizumi, hoping that it would be enough to convey his feelings.

But still.

_It was my fault_, he thought, _I wasn't good enough._

As the awards ceremony took place Imaizumi stood in amongst the crowd between Naruko and Onoda. He wished that their expressions were different as they gazed upon the stage, with eyes alight in pride and Onoda making more wistful dreams about the three of them crossing the finish line together, not of the grim determination of second place. He would turn the frustration of seeing Kinjou standing to the side of the podium and return the favour tomorrow as Makishima had said to do.

"Hey," Naruko said, lightly punching Imaizumi's arm, "wanna go grab a drink with me and Onoda-kun back at the tent?"

The racers had left the stage and the crowd was beginning to thin out. The cameramen and journalists were on the move, searching for where the second stage placers could have gone to.

Imaizumi shook his head.

"I think I'll pass."

"Huh? Hey hotshot, what're ya gonna do?"

"I'm going to take a walk."

"Imaizumi-kun," Onoda said, concerned. "Will you be fine? Your legs must be tired from today, are you sure you don't want to rest with us?"

He feigned a smiled.

"I'm fine."

"But..."

"Let him be," Naruko interrupted, one hand blocking him from chasing after Imaizumi. "Hotshot probably needs to clear his head."

Onoda watched his retreating back, and seeing his lowered head he understood.

OO

There weren't many places Imaizumi could have wandered, the barricades and spectators making it difficult to find a remote space, and he wasn't so familiar with the area that he could have gone far. Twice he walked around the vendors, and once he went back to the event stage though he left rather quickly. His legs felt heavy with every bend at the knee, causing him to drag his feet, and Imaizumi tried to convince himself that it was just the exhaustion.

He was thankful that he had exchanged his jersey for civilian clothes; even without placing first he saw how Kinjou was getting swarmed by the press for being an unpredicted threat to Hakone Academy's kings. Dressed the way he was now in his blue shirt and jeans, he looked to be one with the crowd instead of the assist who had pulled Sohoku's ace to the goal. Right now he preferred the anonymity, though a few times Imaizumi had to duck his head or look off to the side, pretending he hadn't made eye contact with the people holding cameras as recognition began to spark in their minds at the sight of his face.

Soon Imaizumi noticed a small clearing behind the tents and stalls, leading away from the main area and into a walkway amongst the trees. The excitement and vendors brought forth by the Inter-High forgot to cover the whole area, leaving nobody to consider mulling about the path. As if by instinct Imaizumi steered toward it.

The path was as he had hoped – isolated and quiet. There were no team tents or stalls and no press from magazines and questions and flashing cameras; nothing but trees lined the way, curving down a concrete path to a place he didn't know where. Just as long as it led away he would take it.

When the crowd had become far enough to be nothing but a subtle drone in the background he stopped amidst the trees and looked up at the sky, watching as a few birds flew past above him. Imaizumi felt the warm sun across his face and he closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, savouring the quiet and isolation offered.

His moment was short-lived as he heard footsteps coming from the opposite end of the path toward him. Imaizumi frowned, just a little upset he hadn't been the first one to discover the path and that someone had been here before him. But when he opened his eyes he was surprised at who had appeared.

"Hakone's ace..." he said in recognition to the bleached hair. The fabric of his jersey was taut against his frame, the Hakone Academy name crossing his shoulders and chest felt like a derisive comment. Fukutomi stopped just a few feet in front of Imaizumi and straightened himself, staring back long enough for the younger boy to feel uncomfortable in his own skin. When Fukutomi didn't respond he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "Sorry, I just recognized you."

Imaizumi tried to move past him when he suddenly replied, "You were Kinjou's assist today."

"I was."

Another silence. Fukutomi continued to stare straight at Imaizumi like he was a puzzle, and if he analyzed him long enough something about the boy would start to make sense. Imaizumi was uncertain if he should stay or continue on his way; meeting Fukutomi wasn't part of the plan when he had decided to take a walk. Instead of clearing his mind, it only brought up emotions he had been trying to suppress.

"You fought well," Fukutomi suddenly said.

"What?"

"You fought well," he repeated.

Imaizumi let the words sink a little into his mind before hollowly laughing, shaking his head.

"I didn't."

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because of today's results – we didn't win." He looked at Fukutomi's hand, still holding onto the bouquet he received at the awards stage. "You did."

He nodded in agreement.

"I did win."

"Yeah." The lump in Imaizumi's throat was back. "Congratulations."

If he had known he would have encountered the Hakone captain, Imaizumi would have rather stayed within the noisy crowds. It was a better alternative to this situation; if Fukutomi started talking to him just to rub the victory in his face he wasn't going to have any of it.

"You are upset," he stated.

"Of course I am." Imaizumi couldn't keep the edge out from his tone. "Anyone would be."

"Will you be competing tomorrow?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You are being held down."

"How so?" Imaizumi asked cautiously, curious about the answer and afraid he would guess right.

"By yourself."

Suddenly Imaizumi clenched his fists, fingernails biting deep into the skin of his palms.

"Maybe," he said, "I wasn't good enough deliver our ace to the finish line."

"You do not have to shoulder the responsibility yourself."

"But I couldn't do it even with everyone's strength."

Fukutomi moved in to place a hand on his shoulder. "I can understand the feeling of guilt."

"Like at last year's Inter-High?" Imaizumi suddenly snapped.

Imaizumi felt Fukutomi's hand tense. When he noticed that the older boy seemed to have also stopped breathing, his anger abided and he looked down at the ground between them, suddenly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

It was a few seconds after his apology when he felt Fukutomi's grip relax.

"No, you are right. But I acknowledge my mistakes and overcame my weaknesses. Have you?"

Imaizumi's eyes widened. There was a knot in his gut, ashamed that he had been so easy to read. He was unsure of whether to be truthful or remain silent, yet either option seemed to lead to the same conclusion. He managed to form the shape of a syllable with his mouth, but when his voice failed Fukutomi began to speak.

"Come with me," he said, sliding his hand from Imaizumi's shoulder.

He began walking back down the path he had come from, disappearing around the bend of trees without glancing back even once to check if Imaizumi had been following – but he didn't need to. Before Imaizumi's mind could register the order his body had already began to act, one foot stepping in front of the other as if he was being tugged along. Something about the Hakone captain made it difficult to disobey.

When he had sight of Fukutomi's back again, Imaizumi wondered where he was being led toward. The farther away from the event they walked the denser the trees lining the walkway became, and the sound of the already muffled crowd could be heard no longer.

Fukutomi walked fast and Imaizumi picked up his stride to follow closer behind, staring at the bibs on his lower back – that's what everyone was fighting for, he thought, that's what everybody wanted to have – the single digit. He wondered what the single tag would look like on Sohoku jerseys and the thought made his blood burn.

As the minutes went by, Imaizumi wondered just how far they had gone when Fukutomi suddenly stopped and turned into a clearing with a simple park bench and a few vending machines. Briefly Imaizumi wondered if he had just walked into danger but quickly dismissed it, calling the idea foolish, knowing that pointless aggression wasn't in the other's nature.

Fukutomi continued forward, placing the bouquet onto the bench before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and pausing a moment before deciding on a machine. Imaizumi was left standing in place, eyes darting to where Fukutomi was and back to staring down the walkway, a little hesitant and wondering if he should leave. When he looked back Fukutomi was holding a bottle in each hand, and after sliding the bouquet away to the end of the bench he sat down. He looked at Imaizumi and placed a bottle down beside himself before focusing on his own, twisting the cap off and taking a drink.

Not wanting to be rude Imaizumi shuffled over with small steps, just a little wary that he had received the message wrong when he picked up the bottle from the bench and sat. But Fukutomi hadn't said anything, just continuing to gaze into the tree line, taking sips from his apple juice – from this close Imaizumi could read the label – and he looked down at his own drink. Pocari Sweat.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome."

They sat beside each other, silence broken only by the sound of the chirping birds and the wind rustling the leaves. Imaizumi's eyes followed through the cracks in the cement leading to underneath Fukutomi's shoe, and looked to his own runners scuffed with dirt and frayed laces. Fukutomi's shoes seemed almost new in comparison to his own.

Suddenly Imaizumi heard a sharp inhale and turned to Fukutomi, who wouldn't stop staring ahead as he asked, "When did you start cycling."

"When I was young. I really began competing in middle school, though."

"I see."

Silence again as they continued to busy themselves with their drinks. Imaizumi began tracing his thumb over the lip of his bottle, realizing he had finished one third of it. He took a glance from the corner of his eye at the other boy's lap, curious about his progress, and felt a little guilty when he noticed one of Fukutomi's hands clenched into a fist on top of his thigh. The other hand was occupied with his half-emptied bottle, index finger fiddling with the seam of the label, picking at the corner and trying to rip it off.

"So... when did you start cycling?"

"Early," Fukutomi replied.

"How early?"

"Very."

"Oh."

Imaizumi took another sip and wondered what force could convince him to follow Fukutomi and sit with him on the bench. He was squirming in his skin but for entirely different reasons than before; his guilt was replaced with awkwardness, and he was unsure to which feeling he preferred. They both weren't talkative and only knew each other second-hand through conversations between teammates. The situation was quite uncomfortable for him and for the Hakone captain, he concluded, noticing the amount of times Fukutomi shifted in his seat. Imaizumi tried to continue the conversation.

"What got you interested?"

"Interested?"

"In cycling, I mean."

"My father was a road racer. He led Hakone Academy to its first victory after establishing the cycling club."

"So the both of you."

"And my brother."

"Really," Imaizumi said, genuinely intrigued. "Did you want to?"

"I do not regret it."

Imaizumi began screwing then unscrewing the cap of his bottle open and shut. Fukutomi had hesitated a moment before answering; it had been very slight, and under a different setting he would have missed it, but with just the two of them he had caught it. _I do not regret it_, he replayed in his mind. Even the wording felt a little wary.

"Would you..." Imaizumi paused, carefully considering his next words, "would you have taken a different path?"

"What do you mean?"

"If given the chance, would you have done something else – did you really want to start road racing?"

"Even without my father's incentive," Fukutomi replied without the previous moment's hesitation, "I would have taken up competitive cycling."

"Why?"

"Duty."

"That's all?" Imaizumi said, surprised. "A sense of duty?"

"No. It is an enjoyable pastime."

Imaizumi shook his head, yet he couldn't deny that he felt a small tug at the corners of his mouth. Though still stoic, Fukutomi wasn't as intimidating off his bike.

"You should have said that earlier."

"Sorry," Fukutomi said, "I have been told my speech isn't the most clear."

The summer heat had momentarily subsided as a stretch of clouds blocked the sun from pounding on their skin. Fukutomi had brushed the sweat from his forehead before taking another sip of his apple juice, and Imaizumi noticed that when he placed his hand back atop his leg it was no longer clenched.

"Imaizumi," Fukutomi said slowly, experimenting with the name on his tongue.

"Yes?"

"What is your reason to road race?"

"To be at the front."

"You are set on winning."

"Of course, that's what everyone wants."

"And that is the reason why you are upset."

Imaizumi had to turn away. He chose to focus on his fingers laced around his bottle, the drink now half-finished. He was troubled that the truth was beginning to creep back through their conversation, but knew he couldn't hide anything from Fukutomi, realizing how perceptive the other boy had been with him.

"It wasn't just because of the loss," he admitted, "it also made me aware of how much I need to grow."

"You will in time."

"But how long will I need?" Imaizumi remembered his order. "I'm weak."

"What is holding you down?"

"I thought that today would show me the results of my training. But it seemed that after I got over one hurdle there was another in my way.

"I wanted to defeat Midousuji – to throw back his cheap victory from before. I pushed myself to the limits so I could meet him here at the Inter-High and show him I'm no longer that gullible boy. But when I realized that even with all my effort he didn't see me as a real cyclist I had almost given up everything."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't. If it hadn't been for Kinjou I would have never crossed that finish line. Even then, we were second place."

Imaizumi pursed his lips, trying to stop himself from completely pouring his emotions out into the open. He wasn't sure anymore if he was upset because of Midousuji or from the day's results, the disappointment of each beginning to blur. He also didn't know why he was confessing to the opponent, but Fukutomi hadn't stopped or interrupted him.

Then Fukutomi began to speak again. "Kinjou made the right decision."

Imaizumi looked up.

"Excuse me?"

"Kinjou told me he would make the strongest team for this year's Inter-High. You may see yourself as weak now, but you have taken to heart your captain's words. Improvement is a good trait."

Imaizumi didn't know how to respond. But the older boy didn't seem to be looking for acknowledgement, already taking another drink from his bottle and closed his eyes, feeling the breeze over his skin. Instantly, the tension in his muscles began to relax as Fukutomi's words started to settle somewhere deep inside.

Instead of forcing words of gratitude Imaizumi put the bottle of Pocari Sweat against his cheek and let Fukutomi's voice replay in his head. He wondered why it had such an instant calming effect. Maybe it was because with Fukutomi, there was no obligation to fulfill, no disappointments. Maybe it was because with Fukutomi, he didn't need to boost his morale – but he had. Maybe it was because with Fukutomi, he let Imaizumi's silence speak.

Overhead, a passing cloud blocked the sun again. Another breeze swept through and Imaizumi removed the bottle from his cheek, letting nature cool him down from the summer heat. A minute had passed by between them when Imaizumi had a pressing question appear in his mind.

"Why are you out here?" he asked.

Fukutomi opened his eyes.

"I am avoiding the press."

"Oh," Imaizumi said. "It didn't seem to bother you."

"As captain it is required, but there are others on the team who are better equipped to handle public speaking."

"I know the feeling," Imaizumi said, thoughts drifting toward red hair.

"Our climber, Toudou, says the most beautiful must be in the pictures whenever possible. I am surprised you do not want the cameras angled toward you."

Imaizumi furrowed his brows.

"Why?"

It was Fukutomi's turn to look away.

"You are very handsome."

Imaizumi choked on his drink and began to blush, wondering if he had misheard. But when he looked at Fukutomi he was taking a sip from his apple juice and looking deep into the tree line, avoiding eye contact with the younger boy.

"Well." Imaizumi couldn't think of anything else to say in the moment.

"I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable," Fukutomi replied, though if anything the admission seemed to have made him more uneasy than it had Imaizumi.

"It was rather sudden but I'm not upset – just surprised."

Fukutomi nodded, but Imaizumi could tell he was still anxious. The hand on his thigh was clenched into a fist again.

"You are..." Imaizumi began to study Fukutomi, trying to find something to compliment him on; Fukutomi wasn't unattractive, he was just severe. His eyebrows were thick and dark, his bleached hair spiked, his eyes sharp and serious. There was nothing Imaizumi could say when everything he could think of was purely objective.

Fukutomi noticed his concentration and said, "You do not have to force yourself."

A little abashed that he had been caught, Imaizumi resorted to his Pocari Sweat, trying to stretch out the amount left inside the bottle in one long, slow sip. When there was nothing left, he collected his nerves and tried to speak again.

"Fukutomi-san," Imaizumi said, and the older boy responded by turning his head. Imaizumi took in a deep breath. "You are strong."

"I am," he simply stated back. Briefly Imaizumi thought he had said something wrong to receive such a blunt response, but looking back down to Fukutomi's hand it was relaxed and resting on the bouquet to the side. Then he began wondering when Fukutomi's hand had drifted away from his leg. Fukutomi noticed where Imaizumi had his attention toward. "Do you want them?"

Imaizumi's head shot up. "What?"

"These flowers, would you like them?" He held the bouquet out.

Imaizumi shook his head.

"No thank you. I'll win my own tomorrow."

"Imaizumi, just because I can sit here with you now does not mean I do not consider you a rival. If you want a bouquet, you must fight for it."

He smiled. "It's not the bouquet I want. It's victory."

Fukutomi straightened his back when he noticed the change in atmosphere. He nodded, pulling the flowers back to his side and said, "Determination is good."

Suddenly a camera snapped and both boys turned toward the entrance.

"Fukutomi Juichi!" A voice called out and the camera snapped again. "I've been looking for you! Please, can I get a statement on your goals for tomorrow's race?"

The man stepped closer, ignoring Imaizumi until he motioned to get up.

"I better leave," he said.

The cameraman looked at Imaizumi for a moment before recognition crossed his face and he turned to Fukutomi. "Why are you sitting with Sohoku?"

Fukutomi ignored the question.

"Imaizumi," he said, "will you be competing tomorrow?"

He threw his bottle into the recycling bin before fixing a serious stare at Fukutomi.

"Of course," he said with a new determination in his voice, "why wouldn't I?"

* * *

**A/N**: Another thing I should have put up from my AO3 a long time ago. Ha, well - here it is! Thanks for giving this a shot!


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